


A Game of Chicken

by Burnadette_dpdl



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burnadette_dpdl/pseuds/Burnadette_dpdl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-motorcycle & police car collision. Of course Lestat can't resist Doing the Thing, even if that Thing is gonna hurt, regardless of his passenger's preference. OF COURSE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration came from the CAPSFRI of 7/25/13:SKYDIVING AND RISKTAKING.  
> ... in which themoonwithin had mentioned motorcycles. My self-imposed prompt: Motorcycle + 200 word limit. This is 195.

_SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT… I am in SO much trouble!_

Rising shakily, I surveyed the scene.

_Armand is going to have a FIELD DAY with this…_

“Trust me,” He had purred, revving his engine. “They usually swerve.”

“USUALLY?!”

“Usually.”

We met them sooner than expected, and centrifugal force had torn my grip from his waist. Motorcycle and squad-car danced briefly, before collapsing in exhausted heaps. The squad-car was now upside-down in the distance, brokenly crying the song of its people.

Lestat lay motionless under the wrecked Ducati. I knelt beside him, grazed his cheek. Gingerly brushed away shrapnel. His body, while painful to watch, was efficiently healing itself, but he might be lost in his reveries for months after one of these accidents.

"L- _Louis?”_ he stammered, barely audible, coughing blood. Relief coursed through me.

“No, it’s Daniel, I’m here for you, Lestat,” I said, breathlessly, leaning in closer.

A line of concentration creased his forehead. “They swerved, didn’t they?”

“No, no they didn’t…”

“Well, then…” he sighed, inspecting a bloody hand, “How do the kids say it these days?” His eyes searched my face, reading my thoughts. He flipped his middle finger out and grinned. “FUCK the police.”


End file.
